


Five Things That Never Happened to the Hawthorne Sisters

by Miss_Prince



Category: Gyakuten Saiban (Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney)
Genre: 5 Things, F/F, Femslash, Incest, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Prince/pseuds/Miss_Prince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five short femslash vignettes featuring Dahlia and Iris. Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Never Happened to the Hawthorne Sisters

It was a complete coincidence that they even met at all. On the night of Iris's release, Phoenix Wright insisted on taking her out for a celebratory dinner -- along with Bikini, Maya, and Pearl, the latter two of whom had probably insisted that Phoenix insist. It was a pleasant evening for many reasons -- good food, good wine, and good company, as they say -- but none of these were the reason Iris remembered this night in perfect clarity, or the reason she considered it one of the most wonderful nights of her life.

It was the night she met Adrian Andrews.

She just happened to be having dinner in the same restaurant. Her prospective client had begged off early after receiving an urgent call, but he had assured Adrian the job was hers if she wanted it, which, of course, she did. However, her high spirits were somewhat dampened by the fact that she still had half her dinner left and no one to keep her company.

Luckily, Phoenix spotted her, sitting all alone, and offered her a seat at their table; she wouldn't be intruding, of course not, and it would be nice to catch up a little -- she knew Maya and Pearl, of course, and this was Sister Bikini... and Iris. Iris, this was Adrian.

Adrian sat across from her, between Maya and Phoenix, and Iris couldn't take her eyes off her the entire night. Adrian was self-assured but humble, rather excitable, and a little clumsy (but thankfully the glass she knocked over was nearly empty anyway). Her eyes were bright behind her glasses -- which occasionally fell askew and required Adrian to resettle them carefully on the bridge of her nose -- and her smile, though rare and slow to appear, was radiant; it made Adrian glow with happiness and contentment and _life_, and Iris could barely stand the beauty of it.

When Iris returned home that night, she couldn't stop thinking of her. Adrian's eagerness and sincerity were charming, her clumsiness utterly endearing. She had been so sweet to Iris, though they had only just met, and listened to her earnestly. Adrian had even smiled once just for her, and Iris felt a pleasant rush of warmth at the memory. It was remarkable how quickly she'd grown fond of Adrian. She hadn't been this taken with anyone since...

Since...

Iris sat down quickly on the bed, feeling dizzy with the suddenness of her realization. She was falling in love again, and she wasn't certain whether to rejoice or despair.

It was a complete coincidence that they met again. Iris had come into town for the mail and Adrian had run into her right there at the post office -- unfortunately quite literally, and she apologized profusely as she helped Iris collect her things, and insisted on buying her lunch to make up for it.

They ate at a quiet little café, in a cozy corner booth that afforded them some privacy, and they talked and talked about everything under the sun, until Iris realized it had gotten quite late, and she should have been back at the temple hours ago. And when they walked out together, the late afternoon sun shining down on them and turning everything golden, Iris did the bravest thing she had ever done.

She kissed Adrian. Adrian kissed back.

It _wasn't_ a coincidence that, six months later, Iris showed up outside Adrian's apartment with a suitcase and the small wooden chest that contained all her possessions in the world. Adrian opened the door at her knock, quickly enough that she might have been hovering just behind it; Iris knew her well enough to recognize that was probably true, and she smiled.

Unpacking took almost no time at all, given Iris's few belongings. Iris carefully stowed the chest beneath the bed while Adrian neatly folded Iris's clothes into the top drawers of the dresser that had been much too big for one person. When that was done, Adrian slipped her arms easily around Iris and tugged her into a tender kiss.

"Welcome home," she murmured against Iris's lips.

Iris drew back for a moment, overwhelmed with joy. "I love you."

Adrian pulled Iris down onto the bed -- _their_ bed -- and kissed her again.  


* * *

 

The devil herself had walked through the door. Alita was sure of it the moment she laid eyes on the woman, blood-red hair wreathing her face like flame. She held her left wrist in her right hand, and tears glittered in her eyes; she looked for all the world like the very picture of sweetness and innocence, but Alita knew it was a lie. Knew, because she could sense the darkness in her, pulsing like a heartbeat -- it resonated with her own.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" she asked. The woman was older than herself, though Alita couldn't say how much.

"Miss," she corrected softly, approaching the counter, eyes lowered; her voice sent a shiver through the younger woman. "Dahlia Hawthorne." Evil had a name.

"Let's take a look at that wrist." Dahlia presented it, and Alita gingerly took it between her hands, feeling carefully for broken bones. Flawless skin, white as snow; delicate hands with slim fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured nails. Gorgeous, perhaps too much so; it made her seem almost unreal. At some point Alita's clinical touch had become a caress, the pads of her fingers stroking up and down the older woman's forearm. She stilled their movements, embarrassed, and returned them to the injured wrist.

"Nothing appears to be broken..." she trailed off as her eyes met Dahlia's. It was like staring into a black hole... or the endless void of death. Alita felt like nothing more than a speck, drowning in the darkness, hopelessly small and impotent against the madness that lurked behind those big, dark eyes.

"Awfully forward, aren't you, little girl?" Dahlia murmured, extracting her wrist from Alita's unresisting fingers. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?" She lifted her hand to the young woman's cheek, feeling it heat beneath her palm as a deep flush rose on Alita's face. She chuckled darkly, and Alita shivered again.

"I've been watching you, you know," Dahlia said, thumb stroking idly against Alita's cheek. "There's definitely..." she paused, selecting a word. "...Potential." The thumb moved down to brush across the other woman's lips, and then she removed her hand, allowing her fingers to trail along Alita's jaw before returning to her side.

"I'm feeling much better now," Dahlia said sweetly. She leaned forward, breath whispering over Alita's ear: "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

The devil left the clinic, and Alita watched her go, feeling as though she were waking from a dream. The woman's words slipped through her mind. Alita knew full well what would happen if she played with the devil's fire. But what a lovely way to burn.  


* * *

 

They were friendly enough in the daylight. Lana had been isolated for so long, first locked inside herself, then locked away in solitary -- for her own protection; to a former cop _and_ a former prosecutor, prison was an exceedingly dangerous place -- and she was grateful for the company. For Iris's part, kindness came naturally to her, and the two got on better than most people who were forced to share such a small space.

But night was something else entirely. At night, the secrets came out -- small things in the beginning, trivial really... but as the days marched past the women delved deeper into themselves, carefully, gently prying out secrets they had thought they would take to their graves.

Lana spoke of fear, of two years of terror and self-loathing, shutting herself away so she could do what had to be done, thinking there was no other way; she spoke of a man named Damon Gant, who had once been her best friend in the world and her greatest ally, and in the end had become her most vicious enemy. Iris spoke of loneliness, of the family who never loved her, who sent her away without regret; she spoke of Sister Bikini, who had been more of a mother to her than her real mother, and how she had saved Iris.

Lana told Iris all about Ema, how she'd raised her sister by herself after their parents' death. She had done the most terrible deeds of her life in Ema's defense... and she'd do them again, if she had to, without hesitation. She said Ema was her reason for living, and, dropping her voice low, said that if something happened to her sister, she wouldn't bother going on.

Iris spoke of Dahlia -- reluctantly at first, because Dahlia was connected to a host of secrets she had been so sure she'd never tell. She spoke of all the people her sister had hurt, all the little cruelties she'd visited upon Iris... and how Iris had loved her despite it all, had missed her twin desperately when they'd been separated as children, and even more now that she was gone forever. She admitted the guilt she still felt deep inside herself -- if Dahlia had loved anyone, she had loved Iris; if anyone could have reached the soul inside her, it would have been her sister... and she had failed. In a voice that trembled, the whisper barely audible, Iris confessed that when Dahlia had been executed, she had tried to kill herself. But she was too weak for that. And she confessed that she regretted her weakness more than the attempt.

Iris had begun to cry during this admission, overwhelmed with grief and guilt and loneliness, and Lana slipped out of her own bunk and into Iris's, pulled her close, let the younger woman sob quietly into her shoulder until she ran out of tears. When Iris had calmed, breathing steady, head resting on Lana's chest, Lana spoke of Mia. She explained that it was the first time she'd been in love, and that she'd never breathed a word of it. That Mia had fallen in love with a wonderful man, and Lana had stood by silently, remained silent even when she lost him. And now Mia was dead.

But there was another confession in that; Iris could hear a different note in Lana's voice. She looked up at the other woman. Something to live for, Lana offered softly. A moment's hesitation, and then Iris tilted her head back. Lana kissed her gently, sweetly, and the lonely ache in each of them faded just a little -- just enough.

The night before Iris's release, they lay curled together in Iris's bunk -- just for a short time, while the guards were busy elsewhere. Lana stroked the younger woman's hair and admitted she didn't know what she was going to do when she finally got out. There weren't many jobs one could get with a law degree and a criminal record. Ema was still overseas, at university now, and Lana had burned her bridges with the few friends she had had, thanks to Gant. Iris said there was always room at Hazakurain, and -- if Lana wanted -- she could take all the time there she needed to get her feet under herself again.

When Lana was released a few weeks later, she blinked at the sunlight and breathed the warm summer air, feeling renewed, reborn. At the foot of the steps, smiling a little self-consciously, was a woman with braided black hair, wearing acolyte's robes -- the most beautiful woman in the world.

Lana walked down the steps, gathered Iris in her arms, and kissed her, feeling wonderful -- relieved that the other woman hadn't only been a dream, thrilled that she had come back for her. They parted, and Iris brushed back a lock of Lana's hair, took her hand and twined their fingers together. And finally, Iris brought Lana home.  


* * *

 

Two women were seated at the table, a pair of fine china teacups set between them. The light of the setting sun streamed in through the enormous picture window overlooking the manor grounds: rolling green lawns, perfectly trimmed, and gardens with countless flowers in full bloom. The place exuded wealth... but the serene landscape belied that wealth's dark origin.

Dahlia pretended to take a sip of her tea and glanced through her lashes at the other woman. Viola Cadaverini seemed perfectly at ease, wearing a smile that managed to seem both non-threatening and incredibly threatening depending on the way it was viewed. She was as dangerous as any in the Cadaverini Family -- perhaps the most dangerous, barring her grandfather. Dahlia knew all too well how sharp the mind was behind that bland smile, how the hand that now lifted the teacup to Viola's lips could turn from kind to cruel in a heartbeat.

Dahlia suppressed a shudder.

The corner of Viola's mouth twitched upward in amusement; she had noticed. Viola always noticed; she seemed to have almost supernatural powers of perception, giving the impression that she was some great predatory cat, toying with her prey. "Now what... could you be thinking of?" she asked playfully.

Dahlia smiled back sweetly. She knew how to play as well, was just as experienced in cruelty and deceit, in dancing around the truth until it became lost. "Why, you, of course," she replied, tone bright, and feigned another sip of tea.

An eyebrow rose. "Oh?" She leaned forward slightly, her full gaze falling on Dahlia. The sparkle of amusement in her coal-black eyes was unnerving. "...Do tell."

Dahlia looked down shyly. "Just you," she replied, feigning innocence. She was a terrific actress, though she knew Viola could see through her just as Dahlia could see through Viola.

Viola laughed, and this was as eerie as all her mannerisms. "Hee...hee...hee..." Again the cup met her lips. "Be... more specific."

Dahlia's looked up through her lashes once more and smiled coyly. "Your hands," she offered, voice soft, gaze sweeping over Viola's elegant fingers. "Your smile." Her eyes lifted to Viola's lips, which twitched upward again faintly. "Your eyes." She finally met Viola's gaze. Amusement still twinkled there, but there was something else now, something dark and heated... something that threatened to burn Dahlia to ash.

Viola set her teacup down deliberately. The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, and its last rays were fading. She rose gracefully and circled the table, drawing Dahlia to her feet effortlessly. And she kissed her, deep and slow, one hand resting on Dahlia's waist, the other tangling itself in her hair, Dahlia clinging to her shoulders for support. They remained that way for some time, Viola stroking teasingly up and down Dahlia's side as their lips moved together, before finally parting, both gasping for breath.

Viola could be cruel, oh yes, and so could Dahlia. But pain would only enhance pleasure, and, in some circumstances, they both knew how to be incredibly kind. Viola caught Dahlia's hand in hers and tugged lightly. They retreated to the bedroom, leaving two full teacups on the table.  


* * *

 

The first time they kissed didn't count, really. It was deep in the longest night of Iris's life, the sound of Eagle River's rapids a dull rumble that pervaded everything, shadows flickering on the walls of Heavenly Hall, cast by the light of Iris's sputtering lantern. Dahlia was mumbling to herself, reaching out to spectres in the throes of a fever that refused to break. Iris had thrown off all the covers, stripped her sister bare, guided cool washcloths over skin that radiated heat, all while Dahlia shivered and stared glassy-eyed at something Iris couldn't see.

For one moment, Iris wondered if Dahlia was looking into the face of death. But she shut that thought away; it was too terrible. Bad enough that her sister looked so helpless and frail. Dahlia had always seemed invincible to Iris; she had always been the brave one, always the one Iris could depend on when she was frightened, because nothing frightened Dahlia. Seeing her like this shook Iris badly, pushed her to the brink of hysteria, and she held on only by clinging to the knowledge that she had to be strong for Dahlia's sake.

But death... Iris had never considered what would happen if her twin died. Just imagining it sent waves of despair through her. It would be like having an arm hacked off; she would not only be left impotent, but with a constant reminder of the part of her she had lost, always at the back of her mind. No... it would be like having part of her soul cut out, leaving her hollow, a shell, forever aching with grief.

She wrenched herself away from these agonizing thoughts. Dahlia was muttering again, but this time Iris could make out some of it -- her name, repeated over and over. Dahlia tossed and turned on the pallet, in clear distress. Iris reached out, trying to calm her. She didn't know what to do; she didn't know how to help. She just wanted Dahlia to stop hurting.

Suddenly Dahlia's eyes locked on hers, still faraway, but somehow intensely focused. In the next instant, Dahlia was kissing her.

Her sister's lips were dry and chapped, her mouth searing hot; Iris could feel the heat from Dahlia's skin washing over her. Dahlia's grip on her shoulders was weak, but she clung desperately, and Iris couldn't bring herself to push her away. Her mind was reeling, images flashing into her brain that were _wrong_, very wrong, and yet the kiss continued, and Dahlia was naked beneath her, and...

Dahlia finally broke away, slumping back against her pillow. Iris scrambled back, blushing furiously, and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to get rid of her unwanted thoughts. Soon enough she shoved them into the back of her mind, and Iris picked up the washcloth and resumed her tireless efforts to keep Dahlia's brain from cooking itself. The fever broke just before dawn, and Iris wept with relief as her sister settled down into peaceful slumber. Exhausted, Iris soon did the same.

She dreamed of heat, of soft, familiar hands on her skin and in her hair, of a curtain of red flame and a slim, pale body that shivered with pleasure. She dreamed that a yawning chasm sealed itself, sending her drifting into a warm place she thought had been lost long ago. She dreamed of her sister, and home.


End file.
